


A Cold One

by maybelletea



Category: Just Shoot Me! (TV)
Genre: Banter, Common Cold, Fever, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybelletea/pseuds/maybelletea
Summary: As he paid for his items, the cashier looked at him sympathetically, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Fighting a cold, huh?”“No,” Finch drawled. “Nasal spray is just my new drug of choice. Gives you a reeeeal headrush.” He grinned.The cashier rolled his eyes and put the items into a bag. As Finch made his way out, the cashier called, “Hey, watch out for ice- it’s a cold one out there!”Didn’t he know it.Dennis Finch comes down with a cold during one of the busiest weeks of the year at Blush Magazine.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	A Cold One

All 7 seasons of Just Shoot me are on Hulu now and I’m kinda obsessed with David Spade right now. Also I know nothing about how running a magazine works so… just go with it. Some of the logistics may be off lol.

* * *

_ “Yep, it’s going to be a cold one out there today, folks… Temperature’s looking to be a high of 29 degrees- start your car early to get it warmed up, and watch out for black ice…” _

Dennis Finch knew the moment he woke up with a pounding head and a throat that felt like sandpaper that it was going to be a long, long day. He'd already had the sneaking suspicion he was catching a cold when it had started to hurt to swallow a couple of days earlier, but he was hoping the copious amounts of vitamin C he was downing would be enough to stave off any illness.   
  
He sighed and hit his radio to turn off the weather report that woke him up

Normally he would try to call in sick, but he already knew Jack wouldn't buy that considering the numerous times he's used that as an excuse to laze around at home. The secretary who cried wolf, and all that. Even if he did, it wouldn't matter because the next issue of  _ Blush _ was ready to go out to print in a couple days and everyone was scrambling around, trying to get ready like they didn't do this every month.

At this point in the year Finch needed his full fucking paycheck, too.

He could feel his nose running and he brought his hand up to his face to wipe it. Before he even could, his breath hitched and his mouth went slack. Without even bothering to get up, he let out a rather weak sneeze that caused him to pitch forward and then flop back down miserably onto his pillow.

Running a hand over his face, he groaned.  _ Why _ do bad things happen to good people? 

He glanced at the clock and swore under his break.  _ Fuck _ . He was going to be late. 

Finch scrambled out of bed and- oh, that was a mistake, because the world started moving out from under his feet. He quickly grabbed onto his nightstand as little white dots danced around in his vision. How fun. 

He shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly to clear it. Five minutes, two tylenol and a shot of dayquil later, he was out the door and into the icy winter air.    
  
_ Christ _ , it was fucking cold and he was already regretting every life choice he’d ever made that led him to this moment. The change in temperature immediately made his nose feel like it was on fire and he stopped, his mouth slack as he waited to sneeze. And waited.   
  
“Ugh, come on, you fucker…” he griped, waving his hands in front of his face, fully aware that people passing him by were giving him weird looks. Finally, it came and the force of it almost caused him to lose his balance.

Shuddering, Finch hugged his arms close to his body, pulled his hood on, and tried to watch out for ice on the sidewalk- he wasn’t looking for a broken leg along with this cold.    
  
The subway to work was torturous. Not that riding the subway in New York City was ever fun by any means, but somehow having a cold made every little annoying thing amplified. All these fucking people crammed in here like sardines, the smells, the noises. Finch couldn’t stop  _ sniffling _ and in his hurry had forgotten kleenex, so now he was just sitting here sniffling like a goddamn idiot. He swiped at his nose with his coat sleeve. A tiny kid was sitting next to him with his mother. He was staring at him, little beady eyes boring holes into Finch’s face. Finally, Finch turned to him, glaring. “What are you _ staring  _ at, kid?”

The kid said nothing, and his eyes didn’t even blink. Weirdo.

Finch was going to say something else to the runt, perhaps ask him when the aliens dropped him off on planet Earth and when they were going to pick him back up, but shuddered as he suddenly felt an extreme prickle in his nose, and he turned away. He bobbed forward with his head in his elbow, his skinny legs coming up at the force of the stifle. He let out a shaky breath.

“Bless you, mister!”

The kid practically yelled it and Finch felt his face warm up as a few people in the subway car turned to look at him. He grunted in response and buried his hands in his coat pockets, shivered a bit.

God, he should have grabbed a warmer coat.

* * *

“You’re late.”

Finch had been out of the elevator for about five seconds before Jack Gallo walked over to him with a stack of paperwork and practically threw it on his desk.   
  
“I- yeah, sorry, sir, uh-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Dennis! This is an important month for us, sales were down last issue and we need to already be getting on top of next month. I’ve got a list of people for you to call to schedule interviews, some new models are coming in today to be sorted, we need new denim and new silk ordered, and there are about twenty other things we have to do just before the afternoon.”

Finch perked up at the sound of “new models” - then deflated when he thought about how he must look right now. He wasn’t desired by them on any other day; he doubted he would fare any better on a day where he looked like death warmed over.

“Also, brush your hair or something, you look terrible,” Jack remarked, before walking into his office.

The phone rang and Finch picked it up, running his hand through his hair, already leafing through the papers Jack had given him.

“Certified desk jockey to corporate magazine hell, how may I help you?”   
  
“Um…” The voice on the other end of the phone paused a second, then got into their actual request and Finch transferred them where they needed to go. Must have not been a regular caller.

“Finch, you really need to stop answering the phone like that.” Finch looked up; Maya was standing in front of the secretary desk, her hand on her hip, the other holding a copy of this month’s cover proof. 

Finch brought his hand to his nose, rubbed it, trying to stave off the persistent itch. “Someone has to speak the truth, _ Maya _ .” He winced as his own voice came out sounding completely thick and congested. Thankfully she hadn’t seemed to notice because she was busy pulling out her planner and setting the proof on his desk.

“Can you make a couple copies of this and send it to the graphics department? I put some notes on it and we need to make some changes.”

“Your wish is my command,” Finch said dryly. He grabbed the paper and then paused; eyelids fluttering, he ducked into his shoulder, away from Maya, with a silent stifle. It made his head spin a little. He let out a long breath afterwards, his nose still tingling; the stifle, of course, had done nothing to alleviate the itch. Though to be frank, he had a feeling any actual sneezing wouldn’t make a difference either.

Maya looked up from her planner and studied him. “Are you feeling okay?”

Finch glanced at her, eyebrow raised. “I’m peachy,” he snapped, then felt a little bad immediately after. She didn’t exactly deserve that.

Maya put her hands up in defense, probably sorry she asked. “Okay, okay.” She turned back to her planner as she walked away, scribbling in it.

* * *

Halfway through the morning, Finch had taken another shot of dayquil, which helped a bit in his appearance, he thought. Probably. No one had said anything anyway when he was clearly  _ dying _ over here. He paused in typing out an email and rubbed his nose. He didn’t know the last time he had had a cold that felt so incredibly persistent in his face- it was like cotton was stuffed up his sinus cavities, making it hard to breathe, but at the same time a bunch of tiny little needles were constantly pricking the inside of his nose. 

He gave a liquid sniff and reached over for another kleenex when he saw he had run out - he’d been running low last week and forgot to replace it. Great. He was guessing they were out in the stock room, too, because everything was  _ totally  _ going his way today.

It wasn’t even noon yet, and Finch was feeling more and more like he had gotten run over by a truck.

“You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”

Well.   
  
Finch scowled at the bald man before him and swiped at his nose with the cuff of his sleeve, then grimaced because that hadn’t worked very well. “Yeah, yeah, hello to you too, Elliot.”

“What, stay up too late jacking off last night? Listen, I’ve got three more photoshoots today before the new models show up- I’m running out of film and I need you to pick up a couple rolls.”

Finch groaned. “Why not have your assistant do it?,” he whined. “I’m Jack’s secretary, not everyone’s personal errand monkey.”   
  
“C’mon, man, it’ll take you fifteen minutes to go to the place on the corner- my assistant is busy prepping the next shoot, and we missed two photoshoots last week because of weather.” Elliot was busy rifling through photos he pulled out of a manila envelope. It was true, New York had seen a sudden snowstorm last week- and while the snow had melted by now, the temperature had not gone over freezing since. Getting caught in the snow with a thin jacket had probably not done wonders for Finch’s immune system at the time.   


“Ughhh,  _ fine _ .” Finch shrugged on his coat, swallowing. He winced at the irritation that was still blooming in his throat. Then he took on a mocking voice, “Do this, do that, Finch, get me more copies, answer the phone faster, don’t sleep on your desk at work, Finch-”

“I mean, I’d say the last one is more than reasonable.” Elliot grinned, shuffled the photos and stuck them back in his folder.

“Whatever,” Finch huffed and turned to walk toward the elevator. “You guys better appreciate all the-” He stopped as he almost ran right into Nina Van Horn, and he flinched, holding his hand to his chest, and most certainly did  _ not _ let out a girly yelp.

Nina looked at him and blinked, smirking. “What’s gotten into you today? You’re more like a jumpy chihuahua instead of your usual lascivious weasel.”

“Well, at least I…” Finch trailed off, unable to think of a snappy comeback for once. His brain was foggy and being the resident sarcastic asshole was hard sometimes. “At least I’m not  _ old _ .”

Nina snorted, rolled her eyes. “Now I know there’s something wrong with you, if that’s the best you can do.” She didn’t press it, though, and continued walking.

* * *

The ride in the empty elevator gave him a minute of sweet relief: away from his annoying co-workers, away from having work to do, away from all the constant noise and pressure that came with working at a bustling magazine. 

Finch sighed and leaned back against the wall, hugging his arms to his body, already dreading having to go back out into the freezing New York air. If he was already feeling cold in this heated building, he couldn’t imagine the shock to his system another extreme temperature change would bring.    


He felt an abrupt flaring in his nose, the prickling nearly unbearable, and he couldn’t help but sneeze (most of the day he just hadn’t been giving into the urge). He bent over at the waist with the force of an uncovered double, and of course, since Lady Luck was always gracing him with her presence, at that moment the elevator door opened and a smartly dressed man and woman from the lawyer’s office on the fifth floor stepped in.

“Oh my, bless you!” The woman said with a smile, a kind looking lady in her fifties with a dark complexion. The white haired man with her merely looked at his watch, not doing much to hide his disgust.

“Ha… thanks,” Finch said, steadfastly avoiding looking at them. He could feel himself blushing. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t really like sneezing in front of people, especially inside in a closed environment where it was more obvious. It brought attention to him in a bad way. Plus, they were kind of high pitched and… yeah, whatever. 

The elevator dinged, signaling its arrival to the lobby, and Finch nearly tripped over himself in his hurry to get out of there.

He braced himself before he hit the freezing winter air again, quickly making a beeline to the corner store a couple blocks down that he knew sold rolls of film. It only took a few minutes, but by the time he was actually inside the heated store he felt like an icicle. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself, taking his hands out of his pockets and trying to rub some heat into his face. Coughing a little, he scanned the shelves for the film and grabbed a few rolls of Kodak 100 and 400, realizing he didn’t even know the exposure Elliot wanted. Going all on the company credit card, anyway. 

Speaking of which, he took the opportunity to grab a few packs of kleenex and a bottle of nasal spray. Honestly, Jack  _ should  _ be paying for this.

As he paid for his items, the cashier looked at him sympathetically, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Fighting a cold, huh?

“No,” Finch drawled. “Nasal spray is just my new drug of choice. Gives you a reeeeal headrush.” He grinned.

The cashier rolled his eyes and put the items into a bag. As Finch made his way out, the cashier called, “Hey, watch out for ice- it’s a cold one out there!”

Didn’t he know it.

* * *

Finch sighed with relief when he finally made it back into their office building’s warm lobby. Miraculously he had avoided falling over on his walk back, though he had slipped a couple times on the ice. He clutched his plastic bag and scraped his shoes against one of the mats by the door. It had started snowing a bit again, not enough to stick, but enough to get his hair and coat damp and make him feel even more miserable.

Still shaking from the cold, he made his way to the elevator, hit the button, and ducked into his elbow with a strangled, half stifled sneeze. 

“Bless,” said the man waiting for the elevator with him.

“Thanks,” Finch muttered, taking out his damp kleenex, which was fairly useless at this point.

Once again, Finch could barely make it to his desk without being bombarded by frantic Blush staff. 

“Dennis, where have you been?” Jack was looking more disheveled than earlier, probably going on five cups of coffee at that point. “We need those interviews for next month’s issue; I’ve got Calvin Klein on line three and-”

Finch was about to interrupt when Maya beat him to the punch.   
  
“Finch, there you are! The graphics department never got my notes, did you not send it to them? I’m really worried about this month’s cover not looking right!”

“Finch, my film?” Elliot popped up behind Maya.

“Ugh, yes! Okay!” Finch cleared his throat, as his voice came out sounding rather hoarse. He tossed the film to Elliot and he caught it. “Can everyone stop freaking out for like, five seconds?” He quickly copied and scanned Maya’s proof and emailed it over to graphics. Jack had already gone back into his office and was talking with someone from Calvin Klein.

“Sorry, Dennis,” Maya sighed. “I just keep thinking about how maybe my piece on fashion’s glass ceiling had something to do with last month’s issue not selling well- I just want people to… care about real issues.”

“Look, people buy this magazine to stare at pretty clothes and hot chicks,” Finch said, handing her the copies. “If you really want people to ‘care’-” he emphasized this in air quotes “-you have to put in little kernels of that stuff, not make it the main focus. Otherwise no one’s gonna pay attention, they’ll just ride it off first glance.”

Maya smiled, an amused look on her face. “What’s got you into such an introspective mood all of a sudden?”   
  
“Drugs will do that to you, baby,” Finch drawled. Said drugs were phenylephrine and dextromethorphan, but she didn’t need to know that.

Maya simply raised an eyebrow and decided not to ask.

Finch opened his mouth to say something else, but an abrupt burning in his nose caused him to turn away quickly, stifling a sneeze into his shoulder, though this time it wasn’t perfectly silent.   
  
“Oh, gesundheit!” Maya called over her shoulder, already on her way back to her office.

“Uh huh,” Finch mumbled, sniffing.

* * *

A few hours later, Finch had passed the “feeling like he’d been hit by a truck” stage of the day and started the “feeling like he’d been hit by a train, thrown in a walk-in freezer for a while, then taken out and hit by another train”. That was the particularly specific analogy he’d come up with in his head. 

Finch had managed to finish scheduling the interviews for the next issue (one with a rather snobby, difficult designer-  _ that _ was a fun phone conversation, especially when he was trying not to fucking sneeze the entire call), gotten the fabric ordered, gotten the models checked in without drooling over them because he was simply too out of it, and worked through all the emails. Well, yesterday’s emails. He was still getting through today’s. Currently he was leaning against the counter by the fridge in their little office kitchen, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, trying to warm himself up. He couldn’t tell if someone had turned the heat down or if he was just getting chills. 

He coughed lightly into his fist. Then that light cough turned into a harsh hacking, and his hand moved to his chest as he bent over, holding onto the counter. While his cold was still residing mainly in his head, the itch in his throat had gotten a bit worse as the afternoon went on.

“Oh, yikes, are you sick?” Nina asked as she walked into the break area to pour herself some coffee.

Finch rolled his eyes, as if it shouldn’t already be completely obvious to everyone in the office- not that people really paid attention, much less gave a shit. “No, Nina, clearly I’m ready to go run a 5k right now. What do you think?”

“If you get me sick…” Nina grumbled, and grabbed the sanitizing spray sitting next to the sink, spraying it in his general vicinity.   
  
Finch laughed at the absurdity. “I don’t think that’s going to help protect you…” He trailed off, because the sanitizing spray had gotten up his nose.  _ Fuck _ . His breath hitched, nostrils flared, and he swerved away quickly, stifling sneezes into the crook of his arm. His upper body thrust forward with the force of each stifle, leaving him lightheaded, and he grabbed onto the counter again. His nose absolutely burned, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes at the sensation. He really needed to actually fucking sneeze.

“Oooh, you shouldn’t do that.” Nina set the coffee pot back into its nook. “You know, my mother told me every time you stifle a sneeze you lose a little bit of your intelligence! Not that there’s much there for you to lose, but...”

“Yeah, well, people believed a lot of weird things in the middle ages,” Finch quipped, wiping his nose with a new kleenex he’d stashed in his pocket.

“Ha ha,” Nina deadpanned. “Seriously, I’ve got too much to do to afford getting sick, so… Back, back, little germ.” She flicked her hands at him and he glared, instinctively backing away and moving closer to the fridge as she left the break area. 

Finch sighed, leaned back against the counter again, closed his eyes, sniffled. Maybe some coffee would magically make him feel better? Maybe he could pawn some adderall off somebody? Some  _ coke _ ? He was feeling desperate. 

He edged himself down against the counter and sat slowly on the floor. His desk was so  _ far away _ and he just needed to rest for a teensy second. 

That teensy second must have turned into several unconscious minutes, because suddenly he felt himself being nudged by someone’s shoe.   
  
“Huh? What-!” Finch startled awake and groaned. He’d accidentally fallen asleep in an odd squatting position on the break area floor, and now his legs were killing him. He stretched them out and crossed them, cracking his neck. 

"Are you okay?” It was Elliot, looking down at him with some concern.

“I’m the best I’ve ever been, can’t you tell?”

“He’s got the plague,” said Nina, walking by with fabric samples. Then she stopped and raised her eyebrows, noticing he was actually on the floor. She came over and peered at him, leaning against the fridge. If Finch didn’t know better, he would say she looked actually sympathetic for a second.

“I don’t have-” Finch cut himself off and rubbed at his nose; it was still burning. He buried himself into his lap and sneezed openly. He sniffed. He was kind of too exhausted to stifle at this point.   
  
“Aw, you sneeze like a cute little puppy,” Nina said sardonically. “You really  _ are _ like a chihuahua today.”   
  
“It’s so girly,” Elliot agreed, laughing.

“Sh-shut up,” Finch said, blushing, his voice wavering. He still needed to sneeze but now he didn’t want to give them the weird satisfaction, the jerks.

“Dennis, what are you doing on the floor?” Maya had now entered the break area, looking down on him with confusion.

“I’m having a party, come join me,” Finch said, grinning. The effect was immediately ruined when he bobbed his head in between his legs again with a silent stifle. 

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

“Well, depends on what way you’re talking about, but yeah, most people would probably say-”

“Dennis, you know what I mean,” Maya interjected, having quite enough of his shenanigans. 

Finch sighed. “Yes, well. Yeah. It’s kind of obvious.” He started to get up and stopped when he got to his knees, one hand on the floor. “But don’t tell your dad, okay, we all have shit to do and… I need to get paid, sooo.”

“Don’t you have sick days?” Maya asked.

“He used them all this year already when he was out careening around town trying to get laid using his industry connections, or lazing around his apartment.” Nina folded her arms. 

“Whaaaat… Why, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Finch said innocently, trying to keep a straight face.

Maya rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you should at least put on one of the extra sweaters we have. You’re shivering.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself in his weird crouching position in his standard yellow button down and black slacks. He  _ was  _ shivering. 

“Here, I’ll grab one for you.” 

Finch was going to say it was fine, but she was already off to the room where they kept all the racks of clothing. 

“How sweet. Well, I have to get back to work,” Nina said. “Don’t die, because-”

She was interrupted by the fact Finch had gotten all the way up then swayed dangerously toward the fridge, and she grabbed his shoulder before he could fall over. Finch held onto her arm for a second before releasing it, somewhat embarrassed. He shut his eyes tight and opened them again to try to clear his head.

“Aww,” Finch said then. “You  _ do _ care. Would you call this a mother instinct or a grandmother instinct?”

“Finch, could you try not being a smart mouthed little ass for five seconds?” Nina asked, exasperated, though she was still holding onto his shoulder, long nails digging through his shirt.   
  
“Hmm…” Finch mumbled, suddenly becoming very  _ sleepy _ again. Why had he gotten up from the floor? It was nice down there…

“Dennis?” Nina shook his arm a little, her eyebrows furrowed in actual concern. Elliot was still standing there with his arms crossed. Finch looked at them both- why were they staring at him like that?

“Hey, no touchy-” Finch moved away from Nina, sniffling. “You don’t want my  _ plague _ , remember?”

Maya came back then and tossed a gray cable knit sweater at him, which he somehow managed to catch.    
  
“Here, I found it in the way back, it’s probably from three seasons ago so no one will care if you get a bunch of mucus on it.” 

Finch grimaced. “Um, thanks…” She didn’t have to do that. That was… nice. He wasn’t really used to people doing nice things for him.

He pulled it on over his head and immediately relished in how soft and warm it felt. He should always wear sweaters to work. “Well, show’s over, we got a magazine to run, people. Chop chop.” He clapped his hands, punctuating the words as he walked by everyone, trying not to sway in his stride and ruin his exit. 

* * *

“Dennis!”

Finch jumped, his head rising from his desk so fast he saw little spots in his vision, much like this morning. He groaned, his head throbbing.  _ Shit _ , he’d fallen asleep again. He patted his nose gingerly and was momentarily grossed out to find mucus had dried around his nostrils.

“You’re sleeping, why am I not surprised?” It was Jack, scowling at him. “You know, many people would kill to have a job at a high end fashion magazine and here you are, squandering it.”

Finch sniffed. “I’m a  _ secretary _ , I’m not exactly high on the totem pole here.” He coughed, wincing at how terrible his voice sounded.

“Ah ah, remember the ‘VP’ title I gave you,” Jack said, wagging his finger and dropping a stack of papers on his desk. 

"Right, right. VP of my desk." To be fair, he had embraced that title.

“Dad, lay off him,” Maya said, walking over to Finch’s desk. “Can’t you see that-” She stopped when she saw Finch’s eyebrows raised at her. “That he’s in a highly emotional state?”

“You are?” Jack looked confused.

“New medication for ADHD,” Finch lied easily. “Makes me a little-” And he did the universal ‘crazy’ hand gesture next to his head. “And  _ suuu _ per tired. But I’m fine.”

“Well, you better be, because I’ve got more where that came from.” Jack nodded at the papers, and then strode back into his office, the door shutting behind him. 

Finch rubbed his nose with a kleenex, sniffling. “You think he’d be able to tell at this point.”

“Are you kidding?” Maya laughed. “I once had a fever of 104 as a kid and he thought I was just being really ‘weird’ that day.”

“Yeah, that’s not-” Finch stopped and ducked into his elbow, turning away from Maya. Again, his legs came up from the force of the stifle, and he let out a shaky breath. “That’s not surprising.”

“Bless you,” Maya said, her voice laced with sympathy. “You really do sound terrible.”

“Terrible enough for you to want to come over later, take care of me, huh? Give me a little TLC?” Finch grinned and wagged his eyebrows suggestively. 

Maya wrinkled her nose, but she was smiling. “Let’s not push it."

Finch spent the remaining few hours of his day sorting through the appropriate files for their respective departments and answering the rest of the emails. By six o'clock he was about ready to keel over. He didn't think he had ever had a cold hit him this hard and this fast. Sure, he had felt bad this morning, but now he felt he could barely move.

Swallowing thickly, he put the back of his hand on his forehead and wondered if he was running a fever. They weren't common with colds, but  _ damn _ he really felt out of it.

He shuffled over to the elevator when he'd finished his mountain of work and it was finally time to leave. Most of the staff, including Jack, had gone home save for Maya, Elliot, and a couple of writers.

Finch still had the sweater on from earlier under his coat; it was helping him feel a little less terrible, somehow. He pushed the button and leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the elevator door, listening to the  _ dings _ as it rose up the building. 

"Hey, don't almost fall over again there, buddy."

Finch took his head off the elevator to see Elliot standing there in his puffy jacket, hands in his black jean pockets.

"'M good," Finch mumbled, giving a liquid sniff.

"Uh  _ huh _ ."

The elevator finally reached their floor and they both stepped in, Finch moving at a languid pace. To his credit, Elliot didn't even look annoyed at Finch's snail-like movements.

They made it out into the cold night air together. (Finch didn’t even think about it until later, but Elliot had been matching his pace the whole way). As usual the sidewalk was still fairly busy. Little specks of snow were still falling and the ground now had a slight dusting on it.   
  
Finch shuddered, the drastic temperature change once again hitting him full force, and his nose immediately prickled. Despite this, he attempted to say, “Well, see you t-tomorr…” but couldn’t get the whole thing out. He trailed off and turned away from Elliot with a rapid flurry of sneezes, bending at the waist. He was too tired to even cover properly.

“Jesus. Bless you, uh… however many times that was,” Elliot said, eyebrows raised.

“Thanks.” Finch blushed, taking a second to catch his breath, rubbing his nose with the back of his wrist. He turned. “See ya.”

“You gonna be all right?” Elliot called after him.

“Relax, I’m not gonna die on the subway. Your conscience can be clear,” Finch said, not looking back. He was already dreading the next few days until the weekend finally hit.

* * *

The mornings were always the worst part about being sick. Finch somehow managed to make it the next couple days without keeling over at work, but the  _ mornings…  _ In the mornings, he always ended up feeling worse than he did the day before. His head felt more clouded, he couldn’t breathe through his nose for a few hours, his throat was flaming, his chills were getting more frequent.

When Finch woke up and remembered it was Friday, he almost wanted to cry with happiness and relief. The magazine had been sent out to print the previous day, though Blush was still very busy with all the preparations to keep up sales on the last issues before the year ended. 

He’d thankfully woken up with plenty of time this morning, so when he bundled himself up in his undershirt, button up, turtleneck sweater, and coat (yes, four layers- he was really cold, okay?), he lingered on his bed, trying to resist the urge to lay back down. 

Finch closed his mouth and tried to breathe through his nose because he probably looked like an idiot with his mouth breathing all the time. The second he did that, he felt the incredible urge to sneeze, sinuses prickling. He waited a couple seconds for them to come, mouth slack; then he took in a shuddering breath and sneezed twice. The force of the second one bent him over and nearly drove him off the bed- he grabbed the edge to steady himself and brought a shaky gloved hand down his face.

On the subway there was nowhere to sit, so Finch held weakly onto one of the poles, startled by every stop as he kept nearly falling asleep while standing up. 

Though he’d felt marginally better during the day the last couple days, he had a feeling he was going entirely downhill again at about noon. He had a throbbing headache, and he was really suspecting at this point he was running a moderate fever. Just his luck to get a fever with a fucking headcold. 

Finch was debating whether or not to just ask Jack if he could go home early when the man himself bursted out of his office and Finch almost fell out of his chair.

“Dennis, I’ve got those meetings today, so make sure you finish answering and preparing everything pertaining to December’s issue; we need to stay on top of it.”   
  
“Oh, yeah- uh, I was wondering-”

“How do I look?” Jack straightened his tie.

“Good- um, if I could just-”   
  
“Okay, you’re doing great-” Jack looked him in the eye then and jabbed a finger passionately in his direction. “And you’re  _ important  _ to this magazine!”

Finch just blinked, confused, and sniffled, trying not to mouth-breathe.

Jack shrugged. “I read it’s good to keep up employee morale by telling them shit like that. See you later!”

Finch sighed as he watched him go, knowing if he ducked out early he’d hear about it later.

“How you doin’ today, Finchy?”   
  
Finch jumped at the sound of Elliot’s voice to his left. He  _ really _ wished people would stop startling him today.

“I’m fin-” His voice came out raspy and hoarse so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah, you look really ‘fine’,” Elliot scoffed, eyeing him with his hands in his jean pockets.

“Thanks, must be the new hair product,” Finch smirked. 

Elliot gave him a look and shrugged on his jacket. “Har har. I’ve got a shoot in an hour. But I’m heading to the store during my break. I can, uh… pick something up for you, if you want. You won’t owe me.” He looked a bit uncomfortable.   
  
Finch squinted at him, suspicious. “...Why?”   
  
“‘Cause I’m trying to be nice, asshole.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Finch was surprised. He wasn’t really used to the rather... kind attention he had gotten a few times this week- not that he usually did anything to warrant it. Finch didn’t really… trust it. He wondered if there was an ulterior motive coming. He mulled this over for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can you, uh… can you get me some Tylenol and... rice cereal?”

“Rice cereal?”

“It’s all I feel like eating right now.” Finch scowled and sniffed, rubbed his nose with a kleenex.

“You should probably get some actual nutrients, too, but hey, I’m not your mother...”   
  
“No, you’re not. Are you gonna go soon? I’m wasting away over here.”

“All right, all right,” Elliot said, sounding amused.

Finch returned to his work about half an hour before Elliot returned with his requests; the food and drugs gave him somewhat of a boost for him to last the better part of the afternoon before he started getting chills again. He dragged the sweater Maya gave him a couple days before out from under his desk (he’d been keeping it there for emergency warmth) and pulled it over his turtleneck, aware that the bulk probably made him look even smaller than normal and probably ridiculous.

He dragged himself into the break area to pour a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine might help.

“Making it through the day without dying, Finch?” Nina’s voice came from somewhere behind him.   
  
Finch nearly dropped his coffee on the floor. “Why does everyone keep  _ doing _ that?”

“Down, little chihuahua.”

“I’m making it through the day _ amazingly _ , actually. Some people are just… resilient like that, I guess,” Finch said with an air of confidence he wasn’t actually feeling right now. 

Nina didn’t look like she was buying it either, given he was standing there in two layers of sweaters, his nose was probably red, lips dry and chapped, color high in his cheeks, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. But it was fine. 

Finch’s mouth went slack as he felt his nose tingling. He hurriedly put the coffee mug on the counter and brought a waving hand to his face, trying to egg the stupid sneeze on.   
  
Nina laughed, “You look like an idiot-”

She was cut off from Finch attempting to stifle before sneezing viciously into his elbow, turning away from her. He groaned, his head throbbing.

“Ugh, bless you,” Nina said, not even bothering to hide her disgust. “If you get me sick I’m going to kill you.”

“Charming,” Finch said, voice weak after the rather unsatisfying expulsions, though he wasn’t even sure if it was discernible, given his voice was now thick with congestion.

“Contagion is highest in the early stages of a cold,” Maya remarked, walking over with a stack of papers and an empty coffee mug.

“So you’re all screwed anyway,” Finch grinned, then ducked back into his elbow with a gasp, sneezing again. “Ugh, _ fuck _ me...”   
  
“Ble-” Maya tried.

Unfortunately he kept fucking sneezing. Finch’s head spun and he kept his eyes closed tight, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

Maya waited a couple seconds to make sure he was done. Nina had backed away and was currently glaring at him from over by the fridge as she waited for him to get his germy self away from the coffee pot. 

“B-bless you…?” Maya said questioningly, unsure of there were more coming.

Finch felt himself blushing and avoided looking at her. “Yeah. You don’t need to say that every time.”   
  
“I’m just being polite.”

“Now your disease is all over the break area,” Nina muttered scornfully.   
  
Finch fiddled with his sweater sleeve as he grabbed his cup to make his way back to his desk. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his fever, but he was starting to feel weirdly emotional and defensive. Sure, they were being kind of nice some of the time, but he knew they really wanted him to get the fuck out and couldn’t care less if he withered away at home.

“I know you guys don’t want me here,” he spat out. “You think _ I  _ want to be here? But I can’t really fucking do anything about it. Jack is counting on me.”   
  
“We never said we don’t-” Maya tried, but Finch was already walking away.

* * *

Finally nearing the end of the day, Finch was so ready for the sweet, sweet weekend in which he could do absolutely nothing and never leave his apartment. He hoped he could actually sleep. He had kept waking up during the night the last few nights, coughing and sweating, his odd feverish dreams disturbing him out of what little dormancy he could achieve. Even if he couldn’t sleep well, he was just looking forward to lying down. 

He stared at his screen, feeling his eyes droop, and shot them back open. It was  _ so _ hard to stay awake right now. 

Wearily, Finch brought a hand to his face and rubbed at his eyes. He had a bit more work left to do but was really doubting he even had the energy to do it. In fact, alarmingly, he suddenly felt so sluggish that he could barely move. He raised his arms above his head, just to make sure he still could. Okay. That was good at least. He had mobility!

“What are you doing?” Maya asked, Elliot and Nina trailing behind her.

“Interpretive dance,” Finch said flatly, his voice still just as congested as earlier.

“Um-” Maya shook her head. “Okay, well, I wanted you to know-  _ we  _ wanted you to know-” She gestured behind her: Elliot and Nina looked both mildly uncomfortable and annoyed. “That we care about you, you’re valuable here, and-”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far- ow!” Nina had interjected but Elliot elbowed her in the ribs.

Maya glared at her. “ _ And _ we want you here.” She crossed her arms defiantly, as if inviting him to debate this.

Finch raised an eyebrow. “Did HR hear me yelling and put you up to this or something?”

“No!” Maya sounded exasperated. “I felt- I mean,  _ we _ felt bad because you looked… Honestly, you looked upset earlier, Dennis.”   
  
“I wasn’t upset,” Finch scoffed, sniffling. Well. He was kind of upset. It must be the stupid fever or something, making him feel all weird. He brought a knuckle to his nose, trying to quell the itch that was growing again.

“Fine, you weren’t upset. But you should go home. You really look like-”   
  
“You look like shit,” Nina piped in.

Maya gave her a look.

“I can’t go home, it’s only…” Finch looked at the clock. It was six. Had he really been sitting there doing nothing for half an hour? Looking around, he realized most of the staff had left already, and that his coworkers in front of them all had their coats on. “Oh.” 

_ Oh.  _ That meant he could finally go home and sleep. The heavens were finally singing, thank the fucking lord. Finch rose from his chair swiftly, which he most certainly should not have done, because it turns out his legs weren’t really working properly. He stumbled, and Maya rushed forward, gripping his arm.   
  
Second time in a week someone had had to keep him from plunging into the floor. He tried to say this, but his voice was so weak it came out more like, “S’cnd t’me in a wee…”

Maya looked confused and a bit alarmed. “What?”   
  
“Mm.” Finch suddenly felt it would take a lot of effort to form words.

“Guys, I think he’s burning up.” Finch felt a hand touch his forehead, but he couldn’t even register who it belonged to because he was staring dumbly at the floor, vision blurred. His body felt hot and cold all over; he tugged the now rather unsanitary, wrinkled sweater closer around himself.

“He can’t go on on the subway like this.”

“Well, someone should take him-”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I live clear in the opposite direction.”

“I walk, so-”

Finch gripped the desk then; Maya’s hand had let go of his arm and he was still feeling unstable. He ducked into his elbow, coughing harshly and at length, feeling dizzy from the effort. Glancing up, he saw all three of his coworkers were looking at him worriedly, even Nina. “It’s fine, it’s not that long of a subway ride,” Finch said, just wanting to go home already. 

“No, I’ll take you,” Elliot said. “C’mon, Finchy.” 

* * *

Finch sighed, leaned against Elliot’s car window with his eyes closed, the cool glass a welcome comfort to his searing skin. He supposed he was, perhaps, sicker than he anticipated being. Even though he’d felt really horrible the past few days, he did not expect it to inihibit is ability to ride the fucking subway. 

“We weren’t fucking with you,” Elliot said suddenly.

“What?” Finch mumbled, opening his eyes, his vision bleary. Elliot was staring ahead at the road, hands tight on the wheel.

“Just because we give you a hard time, you do the same to us, that’s just how we operate, you know? You’re an annoying little creep but it doesn’t mean I don’t consider you a friend.”

“Oh. I…” Finch trailed off, and sniffed. He was going to say something between  _ I didn’t know you were such a fucking sap  _ and  _ I consider you a friend too _ but the words didn’t form; he wasn’t sure if it was because of his illness or because it was difficult to be honest.

So instead of responding, when he opened his mouth he took in a sharp breath. He could see out of his periphery Elliot’s gaze shift to him, puzzled.

Finch kept his mouth slack for a second, fluttered his eyes closed, and then wrenched forward, trying to cover the impending sneezes with his arms and twisted toward the car door, his legs jerking up. 

“Christ, bless you.” 

Finch felt his face and neck grow hot again, then doubled over with yet another sneeze, his coat sleeve now wet with spray.  __ “...Ugh _.” _ It seemed he still wasn’t over that embarrassment factor. “Thanks,” he got out, sniffling.

“At least they feel good, right?”

Finch looked at him, trying to mop up his dripping nose with his tarnished sweater. “What?”   
  
“Don’t they say a sneeze is an eighth of an orgasm or some shit?” Elliot was smirking, eyes on the road again.

Finch barked out a laugh. “I’m having plenty of orgasms this week, then.”

They finally reached his apartment building; a mixture of rain and snow was beginning to fall, the flakes dancing across the light of the street lamps. 

Finch struggled with the door handle, his hands kept slipping on the grip. He edged himself out of the car and stood on shaky legs, the cold air blasting him in the face.

He turned toward Elliot who was eyeing him as if he was unsure if he was going to make it up the steps, much less all the way to his apartment. “Um…” Finch sighed and looked away, fiddling with the door handle. “Thanks.” 

Though Finch wasn’t looking directly at him, he could tell Elliot was grinning. “Sure, man. Just try not to die, okay?”   
  
“I’ll do my best,” Finch said, the ‘best’ coming out sort of garbled as he started to cough, making him sound downright pitiful. 

Thankfully and perhaps miraculously, Finch  _ did _ make it to his apartment, and actually slept through the night (and most of the weekend), and was not, truth be told, dreading work on Monday.

_ FIN _


End file.
